The Fact Is The Sweetest Dream That

Modern Poets Talk Against Business, Poor Things, But All Of Us Write For Money. Beginners Are Subjected To Trial By Market.

Our Life Runs Down In Sending Up The Clock. The Brook Runs Down In Sending Up Our Life. The Sun Runs Down In Sending Up The Brook. And There Is Something Sending Up The Sun.

Poetry Is About The Grief. Politics Is About The Grievance.

O Hushed October Morning Mild, Begin The Hours Of This Day Slow, Make The Day Seem To Us Less Brief... Retard The Sun With Gentle Mist; Enchant The Land With Amethyst.

Some Say The World Will End In Fire, Some Say In Ice. From What I've Tasted Of Desire, I Hold With Those Who Favor Fire. But If It Had To Perish Twice I Think I Know Enough Of Hate To Say That For Destruction Ice Is Also Great And Would Suffice.